Seeking Stupidity
by Socrates7727
Summary: After the war, they were all haunted in their own ways. Pansy finally seeks out Draco after years apart, cutesy friendship post-war fic written for round 10 of the International Wizarding School Championship!


AN I do not own HP or any of the characters! Cutesy friendship (relationship, if you read into it) post-war fic Pansy/Draco written for the IWSC round 10!

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Story Title: Seeking Stupidity

School: Mahoutokoro

Year: Four

Theme: Seeking

Main Prompt: [Character] Pansy Parkinson

Other Prompts: [Plot Point] Using another's Pensieve, [Quote] "Someday you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again." - C.S. Lewis

Wordcount: 3237

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Pansy Parkinson was not afraid of groveling or being dramatic. She had some pride, though not a lot nowadays, and she generally didn't resort to those tactics unless she had no other option. That had always been the main difference between her and the rest of their little group. Draco, Blaise, and even Theo had always refused to cry or put on a show for sympathy, regardless of the situation, which, Pansy reasoned, was why their group had ended up the way they had.

Blaise was dead. He'd chosen to go down in flames rather than whimper at the Dark Lord's feet, and none of them had ever faulted him for that decision. Theo had managed to keep a low profile during the majority of the fighting. The day after the final battle, Pansy had received a vague, scribbled note that merely told her he'd gone to America and planned to disguise himself as a Muggle for the time being. She had no idea if Draco had gotten the same letter, or if he even knew, but she couldn't blame Theo for running. A life in hiding was better than a life in Azkaban, wasn't it?

Pansy had stayed, and faced her trial before the Wizengamot. As expected, no one came or testified on her behalf, but she'd been prepared to face it alone since she'd first seen the dark side falter. The charges were steep. Unlike the boys, though, Pansy was not afraid of a bit of theater. She'd played up the deaths of her parents, she'd dramatized the loneliness of her isolation, and she'd sobbed and begged at the feet of her judges for _hours_ because that was her way of putting up a fight. She was young, and pretty, and though the Mark on her arm was incriminating, she'd always been good at spinning things.

That afternoon, she'd been released. Six months of house arrest was nothing compared to the sentence she'd originally been slated for, and she took it gladly. The four of them had always been so similar, yet in very different ways. They'd all stuck to their beliefs and their decisions, one way or another, but they'd each chosen their own way of doing so. Blaise in death, and Theo in running. She'd lied and manipulated the best way she knew how, but Draco…

The Wizengamot had looked at Draco and seen a clone of his father, a prodigy of the Dark Lord, and a force of corruption within Hogwarts. Pansy had never once accused or blamed Draco of anything in her trial, but the sympathy she'd earned came at a price because someone had to be held responsible for her actions, even if she wasn't. That 'someone' was Draco.

Pansy wrung her hands behind her back, eyeing up the iron gate like it might attack her for trying to open it. Honestly, with Draco, she wouldn't have been surprised. The metal gave under her touch, though, and parted for her as if she'd spelled it open. It'd been years since she'd last seen Malfoy Manor... Everything was well tended to and luxurious, as always, though she couldn't help wondering how Draco had managed that from within Azkaban.

Merlin, what was she doing? She picked at the rips in her sleeve and hesitated, trying to remember why she'd thought this was a good idea in the first place. Draco had gone to Azkaban. Six years, if she remembered correctly, and another two of zero contact but _now _she suddenly had the nerve to contact him?

He probably hated her. She knew that, and yet her feet started down the familiar path without her direction. Would he hex her? Had he even been given his wand back at all? What if he was happily married with two kids, now, and had forgotten all about her during his sentence? Or worse, what if he still thought they were going to get married?

She knocked on the door, though she suddenly felt ridiculous. The sound of iron against oak ricocheted through the house, and she heard the telltale _pop!_ of a house elf Apparating near the door. Of course he still had house elves. Granger had been cracking down and passing law after law at the Ministry for years, now, but of course Draco—even with his tenuous legal standing—would test those limits. Clearly, he hadn't changed _that_ much.

"Hello! How can Lefa be helping yous, Miss?" Lefa? Pansy couldn't ever remember hearing a Malfoy house elf introduce itself, especially not so cheerfully. She shook it off, though, because she was here for more important things than house elf regulations or routines.

"I'm looking for Draco Malfoy." Immediately, the house elf's face brightened into a smile.

"Ah, yes! Come, come, you is waiting in the parlor, Miss, and Lefa is fetching Master Draco. Come come!" Pansy let herself be guided into the Manor, and then into the nearest sitting room as if she didn't know where everything was or where she was supposed to wait. The interior was exactly the way it'd been since they were kids—spotless, and rich in its colors. She tried not to, but she couldn't help running a finger along the nearest shelf. No dust. Apparently Master Draco kept a clean house.

Though she was an aristocrat's daughter, Pansy did not have much experience with anxiety and she felt it now like poison in her veins. She knew not to fidget or snoop, but she had to do _something _other than just sit there. Standing, she began to inspect the bookcase. Even the books were the same. Maybe… No, there was no way. Still, she found herself scanning the titles until she reached the very center of the second shelf—_Hogwarts: A History_. She pulled it out, pleased to feel very little weight, and glanced behind her before opening the cover. Sure enough, it was the copy they'd hollowed out as kids.

There was a hairband inside—likely a slingshot, originally—and a couple old candies. A scribbly drawing of a mooncalf they'd seen at a festival was tucked beneath a small box of colored pencils, but what drew her attention most was the glowing little vial beside it. A memory? She smiled, pulling it from the clutter, and tried to remember why they'd saved this memory or even when. A friend of their parents had taught them how to pull out memories as children, and they'd been obsessed with it for months, saving meaningless memories one after another just because they could.

Curiosity got the better of her. She glanced around again, as if Draco would be standing there in the shadows just watching her meddling, but she was alone. Content with her relative privacy, she pulled the Pensieve from the top shelf of the bookcase. It was old—ancient, even—with a huge M engraved in the bottom, but she was pressed for time, so she just conjured some water and poured the vial in.

They were so young... If she'd had to guess, she would have put their ages between seven and eight, though they acted like four-year-olds when their parents weren't nearby. They were in the same parlor, and it didn't look even the slightest bit different, but she was more focused on the conversation. Draco was sprawled out on the floor. She knew his body language well enough to know his typical '_I'm bored_' position, but the younger version of her was ignoring it.

"We could read this!" She was pointing to a pretty blue book with a thick, engraved cover, but Draco turned up his nose in a huff.

"Those are for children!" The little blond didn't say anything more, but Pansy heard the implication even now—_and we aren't children._ Young Pansy ignored that, though.

"It says _fairy_ tales, stupid! Not _children's_ tales!"

"I'm not stupid, _stupid_! They're _for_ children, not about them, and you would know that if you ever bothered to read!" Young Pansy stomped her foot, but Draco wasn't finished. "Besides, why would you want to read them? You know they're not real."

Pansy lifted her face from the water, trying not to get too nostalgic or read too far into what they'd been like as kids, but a high-pitched squeak stopped her. Lefa was standing in the doorway with Draco right behind her.

"Sorry, Miss, Lefa does not mean to be interrupting but Master Draco…" Lefa trailed off, but Pansy just dried her face. Master Draco… She had noticed that the first time, though she wouldn't bring it up, but the change from the customary Master Malfoy was undoubtedly intentional. Maybe Draco wasn't as fond of his father's memory as he'd been at the trials?

"Thank you, Lefa, that will be all." Merlin, even just hearing his voice was like a trip down memory lane. Her hand shook, despite the fact that she wasn't scared, and she tried desperately to remember why she was there. The house elf disappeared, and the air thickened between them.

"Pansy, you look good." She nodded, but her tongue suddenly felt like it was tied into a thousand little knots. Why was this so hard? It wasn't like they'd ended on bad terms and it wasn't like she was to blame for his longer sentence in Azkaban, but she still shifted guiltily in place.

"You do too." He didn't—he looked older and more weathered than he had before, but he at least seemed calmer. "I'm sorry it's been so long. I was planning to visit as soon as you got back, but I wasn't sure that you'd want to see me."

That wasn't what she was sorry for, but that was all her mouth would let her say. It was better than nothing, right? Draco seemed to sense her nervousness and he flashed her a polite smile, but it was forced. This was all wrong. This wasn't how they were supposed to work, this wasn't what their friendship was based on. He was treating her like a stranger.

"Don't worry about it, I've kept myself busy." He had, clearly, between the estate and however he was making money, given that the entire Malfoy fortune had been surrendered as part of the war reparations. That wasn't the point, though, and they both seemed to know that.

"I can see that. How did you manage to keep up the Manor while you were gone?" It felt weird to phrase it like that—he hadn't been gone, he'd been in _Azkaban_—but she didn't know what else to say. They weren't close enough for that kind of casual conversation anymore.

"The house elves did it, actually, and I didn't even know that they were maintaining it until I came back. They worked for my mother, in case you were wondering, and they chose to stay. Their salaries aren't much, but… No offense, Pansy, but I know you don't care about the Manor or the house elves. What are you doing here?" That was the question. She hadn't been expecting it so bluntly or so abruptly but evidently the Dementors had worn down Draco's patience along with his happiness.

"I was looking for something the other day, actually, and I realized that I didn't have it. I thought maybe I'd left it here." His face was unreadable—strained and squinting in all the wrong places as if he couldn't decide between suspicion and disappointment—but he just nodded.

"Perhaps. What were you looking for?"

"My best friend." Merlin she'd _thought_ that but she hadn't actually intended to _say_ it! She swore at herself and watched his expression, just waiting for that crinkle of disgust or rejection, but he just stared at her.

"Those are pretty hard to misplace. You must have been pretty distracted." Short, clipped sentences. She couldn't tell if he was angry or if he was just being formal out of habit, but it was better than yelling at least. Not that Draco was the type to yell.

"Yeah, there were a few things going on around that time and I wasn't really myself—"

"Yes you were." Pansy stopped, but he still didn't look angry—just honest. She hadn't ever meant to throw Draco to the wolves or to abandon him once he'd come back, but it'd just been so easy to ignore it…

"I was stupid, though, and I was only thinking about myself." For a second, it seemed like Draco was going to walk away or dismiss her but he just took a seat on the leather couch.

"You've always been stupid." Pansy balked, trying to understand when their conversation had been reduced to _this_ but then she caught a hint of a smile in his face. Was he… joking with her?

"Takes one to know one, _stupid_." She panicked when he didn't respond immediately, thinking she'd misread the situation or taken it too far, but he smiled. A real, genuine smile. It was smaller than it used to be and it was fleeting, like he wasn't sure he remembered how to make that expression anymore, but it was there.

"You really haven't changed anything, have you?" She gestured towards the bookcase, where there was very obviously a gap left by the hollowed out copy of _Hogwarts: A History,_ but Draco tsked under his breath.

"You really haven't gotten any less nosey, have you?" He was joking, or at least he was lightheartedly annoyed. It wasn't very ladylike or regal, but she'd never been either of those things when it came to Draco, so she plopped down on the floor. Her eyes wandered, and she couldn't help stopping on the thick blue book from the memory.

"Are you still a git when it comes to books like that?" She motioned towards it, but she didn't need to. He knew which book she meant, if the memory was any indication, and he didn't even glance at it before raising an eyebrow at her.

"Aren't you a little old to be reading children's stories?" Pansy rolled her eyes.

"They're fairy tales, Drake, not _children's _tales. Honestly, have I taught you nothing?" She paused, glancing at his expression to see if he'd noticed her slip with the nickname, but if he had, he didn't react to it.

"Doesn't matter, really. They aren't real, either way, so what's the point?" How had they managed to live almost twenty years since that day in the parlor, yet they still could have the same argument almost word for word? Was that a testament to their friendship? Or their stubborness?

"Maybe the point _is_ that they aren't real. Some people say that stories like that are little pieces of happiness you can rely on to always be there, even if the outside world doesn't have any of its own. You, of all people, would know about that." It felt like it was too far, given how tentative their friendship still seemed, but she had to do it. Neither of them had ever been very patient and this was no exception. Even if bringing up his time in Azkaban would ultimately upset him, she wanted to make a point.

"Yes, Pansy. I, of all people, know about a world with no happiness. But that?" He gestured towards the book, frowning a bit. "That happiness is fake, which is even worse."

"It's not fake, it's just different. You knew that when you were a kid—I remember—but then you decided that they were stupid."

"They are stupid." Draco wasn't angry and neither was she. Most of their relationship consisted of little bickering spats like this and it felt more normal than any of the polite conversation leading up to it had, but she could tell he was beyond the point of being reasoned with. He'd always been stubborn—they both had.

"Someday you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again, Draco. You have to want the happiness, though, or you're right—they _are _just stupid little stories. It's okay. You don't have to understand right away. You always were rather reluctant to admit when you were wrong and I was right—which I am." Draco just smiled and shook his head. They were both incredibly stubborn and they'd had this argument at least twenty times but it didn't matter. She was right, and he would learn that soon enough. In the meantime, it was enough to bicker and reminisce.

"You never lost me, you know." She whirled on him, surprised by how quickly he'd gone from chuckling to being deadly serious, but he was just staring at the bookcase.

"What?"

"You said you were looking for something, when I first asked you. You never lost me, though. I never hated you or held a grudge, and I would have reached out sooner but I'm kind of on lockdown here and I thought you needed the space. But I was never going to let it end like that." At some point, he'd summoned the hollowed out book and he thumbed the drawing they'd made as he spoke, avoiding eye contact, but she didn't mind. Neither of them had ever been good at talks like this.

"I didn't say I was looking for you, I said I was looking for my best friend."

Surprisingly, he didn't get defensive or upset by that comment like the old Draco would have. She'd always been more colloquial than he ever was, and it had caused countless arguments as children, but he didn't seem quite as hot-headed or reactive as he'd been. Maybe he understood what she meant? That he could be there, and be there _for her_ even, without being the person she'd grown up loving.

"You're right; that is what you said. Did you find what you were looking for, then?" For what felt like the millionth time that day, Pansy hesitated. She glanced between the Pensieve that had held the little, innocent versions of themselves and the man that was sitting in front of her. It'd been eight years…

They'd been arranged to get married after they graduated, and clearly that had changed. Both of them were orphans, now, and neither married or with families—another thing that hadn't gone as planned. He'd definitely changed, both with the war and with his time in Azkaban. And yet, she couldn't help calling him stupid or falling into petty little arguments the way they always had as kids. Even with everything else in pieces around them, even with the weight that seemed to haunt his expression and the loneliness that haunted hers, he was still joking with her.

"Well, I was looking for a noble, intelligent man with a sense of humor and great taste in fashion, but all I found was this stupid blond git who's too stubborn to admit when he's wrong. I guess he'll do, though, as long as he doesn't bring me flowers I'm _specifically _allergic too."

"That was _one time_ Pansy! For the love of Salazar, let it go!" They were both laughing, though, and before she even realized what she was doing, she'd pulled him up into a tight hug. It took a second, but he hugged her back. _Merlin_ he felt like home and family and a hundred other things she hadn't realized she was missing until that very moment. To think she'd wasted two years just wringing her hands when she could have had this…

"I missed you, stupid." He smiled—she felt the motion, somehow—and kissed her forehead.

"Takes one to know one, sweetheart."

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Thanks so much for reading! Please review, it really does mean everything to me as a writer! Also check out the International Wizarding School Championship for some amazing writers and their work!


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